


How I Met Your Father

by Schriftsteller



Series: How I Met Your Father [1]
Category: Primeval
Genre: (except it's another AU), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Established Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Not another AU, Panic Attacks, Well almost everybody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schriftsteller/pseuds/Schriftsteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kids, the day I met your father, we'd been dating for about three months." </p><p>Or, the one where Connor and Abby come back to the Cretaceous to a universe very different from their own. There's Becker, Matt, and Jess, but there's a few unexpected faces, too. In this timeline, Stephen's still alive. Cutter, too. And that's not all that's news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually my first personal fic. Everything else I've done has been requests so far, but I'm trying my hand at a personal plot line. For my first trick: my go at a Fix-It/AU/Romance sort of thing, with a comedic spin via a 'How I Met Your Mother' style.

Present Day

"Kids, y'know…it's a bit of a funny story how your dad and I got together. Well, you obviously know our work, how things can get a bit complicated from time to time. More like all the time, really. It's actually a bit insane, when you think about it. But that's…that's beside the point, isn't it? The point is, sometimes it bleeds over a bit. Sorta like bringin' your work home with you, only it's not really a personal choice; it just sort of happens. And it's not just your work, either, but your whole bloody life that gets knocked out of whack. It's good, sometimes, don't get me wrong. It's bad sometimes, too. But mostly, it's just all sort of jumbled together, the good and the bad, and you've just got to take the both of them and go with it.

"Sorry. I suppose this doesn't make much sense to the two of you just now. Or probably ever. Don't even know why I'm telling you, really, only I'm bored and it's something to keep the lot of us occupied while your dad's away. I guess what I'm trying to say, though, is that it's complicated, things with me and your dad.

"Maybe I should just start from the beginning, yeah? Although that's a bit tricky as well, in a way. Suppose we just give it a go, see how it ends up. Might have to start over a few times, but what've we got better to do? So, here goes.

"Kids, the day I met your father, we'd been dating for about three months."


	2. How I Met Your Father

5 Years Ago

God, but it was good to be back in the present. Granted, he could've done without the bit with the Spinosaurus in the amphitheatre, but what he wouldn't have done for a truck and a team of trained blokes armed to the teeth back when he and Abby were roughing it in the Cretaceous period.

Things had changed since they went through. Not everything, of course. Becker was the same as he ever was. Maybe a bit happier, but Connor thought that might have more to do with their coming back then any actual change in disposition. No, Becker was Becker. And Connor was bloody over the moon to see him.

The new people, he wasn't so sure about. That Matt bloke had saved his arse, so he figured that ought to earn him some points. But there was something about the way he and Becker got on. Or didn't get on, as it were. It was like Becker couldn't decide at any moment if he wanted to throttle him or respect the hell out of him; changed from minute to minute, it seemed like.

That Jess girl over the comms seemed nice enough, though.

Ever the nerd (and proud of it), he had to take a bit to admire the new tech, too. The comms, for one. A system with that sort of range, those capabilities, and so many channels all monitored and operated from a central control, it was bloody brilliant. And the black boxes that kept track of the anomalies were a trick of their own. Becker told him they were based off his Anomaly Detection Device, which he thought was pretty ace. Made him feel like he'd done something, left his mark. The guns were wicked, too. At least they looked that way. Becker still didn't look sold on them, and he was really the expert, but Connor could think of worse things than a way to avoid bullets flying everywhere. He knew he for one would rather get caught by a ricochet taser than the other.

Judging by the unfamiliar route Becker took when he was driving them back, the ARC wasn't where it used to be, either. That probably should've bothered Connor more than it did. The ARC had been his second home. His first home, even, that little bit where he'd been without. Truth be told, though, he was just too knackered to care just then. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and with the light music Connor knew Becker was only tolerating for their benefit, and Becker's voice as he chatted with someone over the comms, Connor was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

"We've got them," he heard Becker say, but it was that far off sort of hearing that only half-registered. "Yes, Abby and Connor both." He paused a moment. "They're fine, all things considered. Connor's asleep."

"Am not," Connor mumbled. He didn't bother opening his eyes, though. Didn't need to, to imagine the pointed eyebrow raise Becker was aiming his way in the rearview. The man had mad eyebrow game. Could probably give a whole speech with just the pair of them, and get a standing o at the end to boot. "And so's Abby."

Abby didn't protest, but he did get a half-hearted elbow in the ribs for his trouble. He couldn't even be arsed to yelp. Didn't hurt, anyway. Not really. His whole body ached, in that 'spent the year running from dinosaurs and sleeping on the ground, and I've been chucked around a few times today to boot' kind of way, but it was nothing he couldn't manage. It was quite nice, actually. Cushy leather seats, proper air conditioning, and nothing trying to eat him for tea; as far as he was concerned, he was in the lap of luxury. Everything was sunshine and roses.

In the front seat, Becker sighed. Connor had taken his earpiece out – made lying his head against the door a bit uncomfortable – so he wasn't sure what was being said, but Becker seemed a bit exasperated by it. "I told you, he's fine. Matt got to him in time."

That got Connor's attention. He opened one eye. Just the one, though. Two would be too much effort. "Someone asking about me?" he asked, genuinely curious. He tried to think of who it might be. He'd asked Becker about Danny before, but hadn't had the chance to get an answer for that Matt bloke coming up and interrupting them. Maybe it'd be him. Or Sarah.

Becker glanced back at him, but didn't answer. He was too busy dealing with whomever was on the other end of the comms. "No, there wouldn't be any point. We're only five minutes out; just meet us in the hub."

Connor's curiosity was definitely piqued. Whoever it was, they were giving Becker an earful. He supposed he could just pop his back in, only he'd put it somewhere and couldn't remember where. Asking Becker was just easier.

"Is it Danny?"

Another look in the rearview, only this one was a bit odder than before. "Danny?" he asked.

"Yeah, Danny. You never did answer: has he come back?"

"What are you on about? Did who come back? Was there someone in the Cretaceous with you?"

It was Connor's turn to look at Becker funny. "Right," he said slowly. "You're taking the piss, aren't you? Got a year of teasing to make up for, and you're getting an early start." He forced a chuckle past the lump rising in his throat and the vice curling around his chest. It felt a lot like panic.

Becker wasn't laughing, though. "What are you talking about?"

"Danny!" Connor shouted a bit too loud for the car. "About your height, late-forties. Used to give you fits sneaking into the ARC? Isn't any of this sounding familiar?" From the look on Becker's face, though, it wasn't.

By then, Abby was sat up, and a glance at her showed a similar wide-eyed look to Connor's on her face. So, he hadn't lost his marbles.

He didn't know if that made him feel better or worse.

"Come on, Becker," he half-pleaded. "You have to remember him. Danny. Danny Quinn."

For a moment, Becker didn't respond. But then a spark of something Connor hoped was recognition showed in his eyes. "Quinn," he said, like he was testing the word. "You mean the constable? The one that arrested you?"

Connor's face fell. If that was all he remembered of him, then that meant...Oh, bloody hell. He didn't know him.

He exchanged looks with Abby. Not good. This was not good. Whatever present they'd come back to, it wasn't their present. Or, their present as it had been. Would be, a year later. Sod it. Could it get any more convoluted?

"You should get looked at by the medic when we get back," Becker concluded finally. He didn't say he thought Connor'd taken a knock to the skull, but it was heavily implied. And Connor was too busy trying to reign his rampaging thoughts in to reply. They were all over the place. Sure, he was always a bit everywhere at all times, but this was a new level. He couldn't think. It barely even registered when they pulled into a car park. The new ARC, he guessed, but he didn't care.

He was sort of in a daze, as Becker opened the door and let them out. Sort of stumbled, and Becker seemed to think he needed a hand, because he put one on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asked. He sounded concerned.

It was more on reflex than after any genuine consideration that Connor nodded. He was fine. Of course he was fine. It wasn't as if he'd just found out part of his timeline had changed and was currently running simultaneously through his head questions of how much had changed, and if he'd done something to be the cause of it. He hadn't stepped on any butterflies that he could remember. Nothing that would mean Danny wouldn't turn up and join the team instead of staying on as a constable. But there had to be something. He had to have done something. Something had changed.

Actually, a lot of somethings had changed, as he found out when Becker led them inside. For a moment, all thoughts of past, present, or future. Actually, he just sort of shut down. All he could think – and, since his brain-to-mouth filter was bad to begin with and just plain shot for the time being, say – was, "Wow, this is...pretty sexy stuff."

And it was. Oh, but it was. All the technology had been updated, it looked like. Three projection monitors lined the front wall, behind a gorgeous three-monitor computer system with panoramic controls. A hundred-eighty degrees of pure beauty, that, and he envied the girl lucky enough to have her hands on it.

"Don't tell me," he heard Lester say, and turned to see him standing just off to the side, looking just as prim and proper as always, "missed the last bus home and had to walk."

Connor grinned. So, maybe not that much had changed. And if Danny was a constable, that meant he was alive at least, not dinosaur bait somewhere in the Pliocene. Not all bad, then. Not all bad at all.

"Connor!"

All of the sudden, Connor's heart stopped in his chest. He'd turned his head at the sound of his name, breath already catching because the voice that said it was too bloody familiar and too bloody impossible, and what he saw when he did...

"Stephen." The name left his lips with the last of his breath, and he couldn't seem to take any more in. Didn't even think to want to, because there, standing not a three feet in front of him, was Stephen-sodding-Hart. Same baggy jeans, same monochrome button up, same brown hair and – objectively speaking – attractive face Connor had wanted to smack the first time he'd met him, because it just wasn't fair. He was there. Alive. How was he there? Or, well, alive?

Much as Connor would've loved to ponder those questions and find the answers, though, he didn't get the chance. He didn't get the chance, because suddenly, Stephen wasn't just there; he was  _there_. And if he'd thought it was hard to breathe before, it didn't hold a candle to how it felt when Stephen, without any warning or preamble at all, wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a crushing hug.

"I knew it," Stephen said. His breath was warm against Connor's ear, and Connor was too stunned to do anything but stand there, even though he knew he should do something. It wasn't as if he wasn't happy to see Stephen, because he was. Of course he was. It was just...buried somewhere, underneath the earth-shattering, heart-pounding realization that someone that was supposed to have died years ago was very,  _very_  much alive. Because if seeing was believing, then he didn't know what the bloody hell this was. He could feel him. The heat of his body, the strength of his arms. And there was plenty of it. Matter of fact, it was a bit tight, the hug. And Stephen didn't seem to be letting up any time soon.

"Alright, that's enough."

Another voice. Another ghost. Even with what felt like a human furnace wrapped around him, he felt his blood go cold.

Slowly, hesitantly, almost...regretfully, Stephen let Connor go. His hand lingered, though, on Connor's arm as he stepped just a bit to the side. Just a bit, but it was enough.

Standing just behind Stephen, a broad smile on his face like he hadn't the foggiest he was supposed to be dead and buried, was the once-late Professor Nick Cutter.

In hindsight, it was probably a good thing Stephen still had a hand on Connor. It meant, when Connor felt the world tilt on its side and the lights go dark, there was at least a chance he wouldn't eat concrete.

Not that he would be conscious to know one way or the other.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a dream. It had to be. It was all just some elaborate, freakishly-realistic dream, and any minute now, he'd wake up in the Cretaceous to Abby batting him around, telling him to go collect wood or roots or something.

Part of him didn't want to open his eyes. Let it stay a bit longer. Strangeness aside, it was a nice dream.

"How is he?"

To Connor's surprise, it wasn't Abby's voice cutting through the haze. Not unless it had gotten a few pitches deeper and she'd suddenly adopted a Scottish accent.

"Malnourished, dehydrated, and a bit banged up, but the medics said he's fine." And there was the second. English, instead of Scottish. But still male, and still very much not Abby. "They think he just got overexcited."

His heart did that funny flutter thing in his chest again, and it almost sort of hurt. Like it'd bruised itself. He swallowed thickly, reflexively. He was actually sort of afraid, since it couldn't seem to bust out his chest, that his heart was gonna make a break for it out his windpipe. And then there was that visual.

"Good to see some things never change."

Even with his eyes still closed, he could see the tolerant, if a bit exasperated smile on Cutter's face. He was still dreaming, then. Except his brain had apparently switched off the video input. That was fine; audio was enough. It was getting hard to breathe again, because they were there, even if it was just a dream. Stephen and Cutter were there, and he could hear their voices, and it was so bloody real. He wanted to open his eyes and see them, but he was terrified that if he did, then he wouldn't. That they wouldn't be there, and he so desperately wanted them to. Even if it meant that the world had gone to shit and something had gone terribly, terribly wrong, a selfish part of him  _needed_  this to be real.

Vaguely, he registered something beeping. It was getting faster. Like the detectors. All he could think about were the detectors, listening for months to hear something go off when nothing did.

"Hey."

Something, or more, someone, touched him, and he nearly started out of his skin. He sat up like he was spring-loaded and his eyes opened on reflex. Nothing he could do to stop them. But it turned out all his worrying was for nothing, because there they were: Stephen to his right and Cutter to his left.

For a second, his vision tunnelled again, and the world kind of tipped. Good job he was sitting, or else they might've had a repeat of what happened before.

And oh God. He'd fainted. That was, like,  _schoolgirl_  level of pathetic. And he'd done it in front of the whole bloody ARC. Way to make a good first impression, Temple. Or whatever impression it was when you knew a lot of people for a good long while then didn't see them for a year or more, then turned back up at their work.

The hand that had touched him on the arm before moved up to the back of his neck, warm and solid and a little bit grounding. Another pressed flat on the front of his shoulder. "Easy, now," he heard Stephen say. Stephen. Talking. Breathing. Alive. Not dead. Not. Dead.

He groaned. Not because it was bad news, necessarily, but because it was a lot to take in. More than a lot. Just getting back from the Cretaceous would've been a lot to take in, but this...this was too much.

He peeked an eye open just in time to see Stephen frown.

"Maybe we should call the medic back in." He was talking to Cutter, clearly, but Connor felt he deserved a say.

"No," he said. He shook his head, but that proved to be a bad idea. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the room to stop spinning, or at the very least pick a direction, thankyouverymuch. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Cutter said.

And you look pretty good for someone that's supposed to've been dead a year and a half, Connor wanted to say but didn't. And don't get him started on Stephen. For nearly three years a corpse, he was looking pretty suave.

What he said instead was, "I'll live."

"You should lie back down, at least." Something told him Stephen wasn't really asking, though. Namely the hand on the front of his shoulder half-guiding, half-pushing him back to the bed. More of a cot, though, really.

It dawned on him, then: he was in the infirmary. Brilliant. Easily his least favourite room in the ARC – at least, it had been in the old ARC; they could've built in something horrible like a mock-up of his first flat or his mum's quilting room in this one for all he knew – and that included Lester's office. Scary place, that.

"Connor."

Cutter's way of gently drawing him back into the conversation. When had he gotten so spacey? He'd been on point in the Cretaceous. Maybe it was something in the air. Or maybe his ADHD was kicking back in, now that he wasn't fighting for his life. Or maybe they'd just broken him. He didn't know. He didn't care.

He was doing it again.

"Right." He shifted against the cot, then frowned as something occurred to him that really should've cropped up earlier. "Where's Abby?"

"She's being debriefed."

"Debriefed?"

Cutter arched an eyebrow. "Are you asking for a definition or a clarification?"

It took Connor a second to realize he didn't really need either. He knew the drill, really. Maybe a few of the details had changed, but he'd been through the song and dance a time or two himself. Probably would again, he'd wager, just as soon as they let him out of there.

Speaking of, "Can I just leave whenever, or...?" he trailed off.

Stephen squeezed his shoulder, and there was a look in his eyes that Connor couldn't quite place. Amusement, maybe? Or relief? Or something else he couldn't manage to put his finger on.

"Relax, Connor," he said. "Have you got some place you need to be?"

"Well, actually—"

Stephen cut him off. Which was probably good, because he didn't actually know how he was planning to finish that. Truth was, he didn't have anywhere to be. No office, he'd wager. No flat. Nothing. "You're staying. At least until the medic's cleared you to go." As he spoke, his thumb brushed over Connor's collarbone. They'd taken his jacket, Connor realized, but it was only a vague realization. He was too focused on Stephen. He was acting strangely. Stephen, from what he could remember, had never been a touchy sort of bloke. But now, he was standing just as close as he could to the bed, and Connor didn't think the thing he was doing with his thumb was entirely friendly behaviour. And that look in his eyes...

Suddenly, it hit him, just what it was he saw in Stephen's eyes when he looked at him. It was affection.

And if he'd had any doubts before, they were all put to rest when, out of the blue, Stephen leaned down and kissed him. On the lips. Just like before, with the hug, Connor was too shocked to react. Just sat there, stunned, while Stephen Hart, ladykiller extraordinaire, laid one on him. Although that didn't seem like a good way to describe it. It wasn't offhand or even heated really. It was more...tender than anything, he supposed, which wasn't a word Connor would generally attach to anything Stephen did. Badass, maybe. Intense. Teensy bit terrifying, from time to time. All that, yeah, sure. But tender? Not in a million years. Or 65 million.

He never would've seen the kiss coming, either, and yet Connor got the weird sort of sense that this was something that had happened before. Maybe not to him, but to Stephen. Like there was something he was missing.

Actually, there seemed to be a lot he was missing.

At least this time, he wasn't the only one. When Stephen leaned back, he was smiling. Which meant he either hadn't noticed Connor's little space out, or he'd written it off.

That was...good, he guessed. Meant he didn't have to explain just yet that the timeline was wonky. He remembered, back when Cutter'd come back, him saying something like it. They'd looked at him like he was daft. And after a year in the Cretaceous, the last thing he needed to do was give them a reason to think he'd lost his mind.

But then he happened to glance over the other way and saw Cutter, and he didn't look quite so at ease. He had his eyes narrowed like he was thinking hard about something. Connor knew the look. It worried him. Especially when Cutter looked at Stephen and suggested he go find Connor something to drink, in that 'it's not really a suggestion, go do it' tone of voice.

Stephen hesitated a moment, glancing over at Connor like he was checking to see if he would be alright with it. Right. They were...together, or something in this timeline? Unless something had gone really screwy and mates kissed their mates on the mouth and brushed their hair out of their face before they turned to leave. Which Stephen did, after Connor managed a smile that he hoped conveyed a little more in the way of 'I'll be fine' than what he was really feeling.

Somehow, he doubted panic and confusion would be very reassuring for Stephen to see.

Cutter waited until Stephen had stepped out through the curtains setting the bed off from the rest of the infirmary to start talking. "Want to tell me what's going on?" he said.

"What?"

"Connor, I'm not an idiot."

"I never said you were," Connor protested lamely. He was just stalling, really. Everyone knew he was a piss poor liar; it wasn't fair pitting him up against someone like Cutter. It was cruel, really.

Cutter just sighed. "We don't have long. Stephen's going to be back any minute now, and unless you want to have this conversation in front of him, too, I suggest you tell me why, ever since you walked through the doors of the ARC, you've looked like you're seeing a ghost."

"Because I am." The words tumbled out without Connor's say so, and he almost wished he could grab them out of the air and cram them all back in. But he couldn't. They were out there, and he felt like he had to explain them, now that they were. "I mean, obviously, I'm not. Because you're not, you know, a ghost. Are you?" The last was said with a wince. He knew he wasn't. Probably. And Stephen couldn't be, or else he was going to have to re-evaluate this whole corporeal/non-corporeal bit. But he had to ask.

"No, Connor. I'm not a ghost." Cutter's brows furrowed. "But why would you think that?"

"It'll sound crazy."

A chuckle. "Then you'll be in good company, at least."

Connor chuckled a bit despite himself, but it didn't last long. He sobered up pretty quick again, picking at the hem of his tattered shirt. "You sort of...died. In my timeline, I mean. That is, the one I was in before I went through the anomaly. There was a fire in the ARC. Helen, she...I watched you die." He still got a bit choked up thinking about it. He blamed it on the overload. A bit overexcited, the medics said. He fought the urge to snort. 'A bit overexcited' was his resting state; this was ten times worse than that. It was like he was all worked up, but his body was too knackered to handle it. He was up and down at the same time. He was a living, breathing vodka redbull.

For his part, Cutter seemed to take the news fairly well. But then, he'd always been calm. And he was better at this time-jumping thing than Connor was. "That's not what happened," he said. It wasn't an argument; it felt more like he was giving Connor a lesson. Catching him up. "I didn't die in the explosion; Helen shot me, but you and Stephen pulled me out. I went through the anomaly after her with you and Jess last year, but we got separated. You hurt your leg. Doesn't any of this sound familiar?"

"Some of it does, yeah," Connor said, "but it's different. Abby and I went through an anomaly, but it was someone else that came through. A man named Danny."

"The constable?" Just like Becker.

Connor sighed. "Yes. Well. No. He wasn't  _actually_  a constable in my timeline. At least, not anymore. He joined on with us after you...well." He didn't say it. He couldn't. It was just too weird, with Cutter right in front of him. And there was this niggling fear, this worry that it was still a dream. That if he said it too many times, it would come true, and Cutter would be dead, and Stephen too, and he'd be back in the Cretaceous with no way of getting back. "It's just different, is all." That was as far as he'd made it in his assessment. Good or bad, he couldn't say. He knew he was glad they were alive, but he didn't know if there was some repercussion to it. Some ripple. There was a reason they didn't play with time; those things always had a way of coming back to bite people in the arse. Always. He needed to know what the catch was.

"And Stephen?" Cutter asked, snapping Connor out of his increasingly-worrisome thoughts.

Connor cleared his throat and sniffed in what he hoped would be a subtle enough way that Cutter wouldn't know he was tearing up. Fat chance. "Sacrificed himself t' save us," he told him.

"And he never came back?"

"Came back?" It was Connor's turn to ask the question. "He came back?"

Cutter shook his head. Not the time, it seemed. Or maybe not his story to tell. "What about Abby?"

"I think she's the same as me," Connor said. "But I haven't had the chance to ask, with the whole..." he gestured for Cutter to fill in the blanks. That, at least, they had common ground on. They'd both been there when he went down. God, that was embarrassing.

In the grand scheme of things, though, he supposed it didn't much matter. Cutter didn't seem to think it did. He had his lips pursed. Connor could practically hear the gears turning in his head. He was thinking, trying to figure what happened or what to do. Connor wished he'd share with the class, because he was at a loss. For all of it. Everything. He had no idea what he was doing or what was going on or how to proceed. Should he act like he remembered, or should he come clean? Would it be bad if they knew? Would they think he was some sort of nutter? That he'd had some sort of breakdown in the Cretaceous? At least he had Abby to back him up; Cutter hadn't had anything. But he wasn't sure that would be enough.

"You have to tell him," Cutter said finally. It was pretty clear, even to Connor, to which 'he' Cutter was referring. Stephen. Stephen, his...boyfriend? Lover? Friends with benefits? Whatever the hell he was to him in this timeline. Bloody hell, but he didn't even know. And he felt guilty for it. He didn't know why, but he felt horrible about it. The way he'd seen Stephen looking at him, all the soft touches and the fond smiles – he felt like a right bastard that he didn't return them. "He's too relieved to have you back just now, but he's bound to start to notice."

Connor felt his mouth go dry. It was hard to swallow, but he did all the same. "I know that. But...how?" How did he tell someone that clearly had feelings for him,  _strong_  feelings, that he was supposed to have been dead for x number of years, and that they'd only just been starting to see each other as more than competition and co-workers when he'd died? It was so unfair.

He still remembered that day he'd asked Stephen for advice about what to do with Abby, and Stephen had actually told him. He hadn't ignored him, hadn't brushed him off; he'd actually talked to him, like a human being. He'd given him the time of day. And that a man like Stephen would actually give a damn about someone like Connor, it'd made him feel like he was part of something. Like he wasn't the same screw-up he'd always been. Like he was finally turning into someone that could be worth something. Useful.

And then he'd died. Just like that, he'd gone and gotten himself ripped to pieces saving their lives, after they'd mistrusted and second guessed him.

Only, he wasn't dead. Not in this timeline. He wasn't dead, and he did more than just give Connor the time of day, apparently. He genuinely cared about him; they had history, and now Connor had to tell him he didn't remember any of it? That last he'd known, Stephen was buried in a plot by the big mausoleum where he sent flowers on his birthday, because he didn't even know what holidays the bloke celebrated to do them then.

This time when a hand landed on his shoulder, he didn't jump. It was too familiar a gesture, even after all this time. Cutter was like the father he'd always wanted but never had, and his quiet, earnest support meant more to Connor now than he could ever express. "I can't tell you that," Cutter said. "But if there's anything I can do to help you, all you have to do is ask."

It wasn't just a nicety. Generally when people said things like that, they didn't mean them. But not Cutter. He knew, if he asked, Cutter would be there. And it was daft, because he'd really only known  _this_  Cutter a few minutes, but the trust was already there. He guessed he wasn't sure where the line was, between this Cutter and his Cutter, or if there was a line at all. If there was a difference. And what about this timeline's Connor and him? What if he wasn't the same person they were used to? What if he wasn't as good? What if they wanted theirs back?

The thought was oddly disheartening. He deflated a bit. "Right." He nodded, and was relieved when the world didn't tilt on its axis this time. "I will. I'll...I'll figure it out."

Cutter's answer was to squeeze his shoulder and offer a small smile. He might've done more, but before he could, the curtains were opening and Stephen was coming back in with a can of Fanta. Which he both held up, alongside his other hand, when Cutter gave him a look.

"It was this or ginger beer," he explained.

And Connor hated ginger beer.

"Are you alright?"

Connor realized then that his eyes were still watering. He nearly swore, but nodded instead. "Yeah, I'm...I'm great." A horrible, horrible person. But otherwise, no complaints.

Hearing his response, if maybe not entirely buying it, Stephen rolled his eyes at him and popped the tab on the can before handing it over. There was enough room on the cot that he could sit down on the side of it after. "Drink up," he told him, then leaned down and whispered almost conspiratorially, "I might've popped down to the vending machines. Figured you ought to have something you liked for your first fizzy drink in a year."

Which he did. Like Fanta, he meant. Anything with orange in it, really, he fancied. Had this Stephen's Connor told him that? And he'd remembered enough to make a gesture out of it. 'Course he had. Why wouldn't he? He'd have sulked, if the first sip of Fanta hadn't been so bloody amazing. Sugar, fizz, and artificial orange flavouring: three of his favourite things in the world, and Stephen had just...known.

He wasn't going to make this easy, was he?


	4. Chapter 4

Present Day

"Kids, that was the best Fanta I've ever tasted. Hands down. The medic nearly had fits when she came in and saw me drinking it, but Cutter handled her well enough. Just sort of got her talking about something else. I can't even remember what anymore, just that it eventually made it 'round to getting me discharged.

"Come to think of it, I sort of get the impression they were just glad to see the back of me. Which was just fine by me; I was glad to be done with them, too. Never liked that sort of place. Too sterile, always smelling of cleaning supplies and too much stress. Not that I could really talk much about smelling, at the time. I remember, they actually gave me jacket back in a biohazard bag. Think they might've tested it while I was out, but I couldn't be sure, and I wasn't about to wait 'round until they told me.

"Probably just as well I got out when I did, anyway. Any longer, I think Stephen might've gone a bit batty. Not good at idling, him. He stuck around long enough long enough to see me out, but then he got called away. I'd liked to have never convinced him I'd be alright on me own. It's sort of a funny thought, really – I managed a year in the Cretaceous with Abby, and he was worried I couldn't manage an office building.

"Granted, just then, I think I'd have preferred the dinosaurs."


	5. Chapter 5

5 Years Ago (cont.)

To think, it'd started out such a good day.

He could've done without getting chased around by the Spinosaurus, before and after going through the anomaly. But that was really all in a day's work, wasn't it? And he'd figured it to be a small price to pay for getting back to the present. Well. A present.

The whole 'different reality' bit had thrown him, but even that wasn't without its bright side. Cutter and Stephen were alive. Brilliant. Granted, the former was studying him a bit like a lab experiment, and the latter thought they were going steady. Even then, though, he could think of loads of people that probably would've killed to trade places. Stephen was a desirable kind of bloke, at any rate. He'd never thought of him that way himself, but Connor was the sort that could appreciate a good system no matter the hardware.

And he'd gotten to meet his idol. Philip Burton, the man behind the first room temperature superconductor, and he was pleased to meet  _Connor_. It was a bit like meeting a comic book superhero, only less spandex.

The day had started taking a turn when he found out Sarah was dead. Becker hadn't said as much, but the look on his face had said it all. Kind Sarah. Clever Sarah. 'Geek out with him over ancient history and conspiracy theories' Sarah was gone, and he couldn't help feeling a bit responsible. If they'd made it back, then maybe...well, maybe things would've been different.

More different than they already were.

It was the debrief, though, that was the worst. It was terrible. Just really, truly, fucking  _awful_. And coming from a bloke that'd spent the last year eating nothing but roots and running from his life from things trying to eat him or feed him to its young, that was saying something.

It wasn't bad enough being sat in front of a recorder for an hour like he was being interrogated or something by practically a complete stranger, but then getting called into Lester's office so he and his mate Philip could tell him he'd effectively been sacked while he was away...and by his idol no less, just to add salt to the wound.

They'd tried reasoning with them, he and Abby against Lester and that Philip Burton. It didn't get much more qualified than them. They'd spent the whole year fully immersed, and before that, they'd spent years as a part of the ARC. Now, getting back and being told they were a liability, that there wasn't a place for them anymore...it hurt. Worse than that, it was like some sort of betrayal. All their hard work, for this?

It wasn't fair.

He'd never been more grateful than he was to get out of Lester's office. He practically ran out, Abby right behind him. He just needed to get out of there. Out of that place with all their new tech. It'd seemed brilliant before, but now, he couldn't stomach it. Because where every new computer stood, an old one was gone. That setup in the front of the hub, it was stood where the old ADD had been. A replacement, because the old stuff wasn't good enough or suited to them anymore.

But hey, at least they'd offered up the flat. Connor bit back a snort. A flat. More like an ARC-owned tin can, no doubt, and they expected that to be some sort of consolation for giving him the boot? Not bloody likely.

"Connor!"

It probably made him all of nine years old, but when he heard Stephen calling him, he couldn't even be arsed to turn around. He just kept walking, trailing behind Abby because she seemed to know her way to the car park and he hadn't the foggiest, and very deliberately  _not_  slowing down. He didn't want to talk to anybody. He didn't want to see anybody. And this was confusing enough without adding his not-boyfriend from an alternate timeline to the mix.

Who was, as it happened, apparently just as stubborn as the late, really-not-his-boyfriend from his timeline he remembered. He could hear his boots on the concrete, hear them pick up to a jog instead of just a walk. "Connor, wait."

He did the opposite. He sped up. It took every ounce of hard-earned bravado not to break into an all out sprint, and even that was mostly because he was just too bloody knackered. Never mind that Stephen was some sort of master tracker and could probably find him in all of ten seconds. And that was assuming he could even outrun him in the first place, and while he thought he might could have him in a full-tilt sprint for a few metres or so, he'd seen Stephen run across whole golf courses without breaking a sweat or his stride. Cheeky athletic bastard. Connor wouldn't stand a chance.

Not that any of it mattered, in the end. He'd only just made it to a familiar-looking hall that he vaguely remembered leading from the car park when he felt a hand close around his shoulder, and really, it was turning into a bit of a habit. Only this time, it was more forceful. It wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough to turn him round until he was face to face with said cheeky athletic bastard, who mercifully didn't look quite so cheeky when he rounded on him.

"Would you stop running away?" he said. He looked like he was trying not to be annoyed but wasn't quite managing.

Connor couldn't bring himself to care. He glanced down at Stephen's hand still gripping his upper arm. "Haven't got much choice, have I?"

Stephen glanced down, too. And didn't move his hand an inch. Instead, he turned his head and looked at where Abby'd stopped. "Abby, Cutter wants to talk to you. He's waiting in the hub." The 'in your own time' went without saying, so he just didn't seem to care to say it. Cutter was a lot of things, but patient wasn't one of them. Whatever he wanted to talk to her about, it was probably important.

Still, Connor felt a bit betrayed when she started back towards the hub. Meant he was alone with Stephen. He could practically hear Cutter's voice in his head, telling him to tell him that he wasn't who he thought he was...bloody hell, but that sentence was a puzzle in its own right, wasn't it?

Whilst Connor pondered the challenges of circular logic and subjective personal pronouns, Stephen turned back to him. He cleared his throat, and Connor paid attention. Sort of.

"Listen," Stephen started, and Connor was, he really was. At least, he was trying, but his mind was in a hundred different places at once. It was a bit distracting. "I'm sorry about what happened."

"What, you mean the bit where Abby and I got trapped in the Cretaceous for a year? Or where the first thing we get when we get here's a pink slip and a 'shove off, thanks for coming'?" It was a bit snappier than he'd meant it to be, but he didn't take it back. Stephen didn't get to just track him down and smooth things over like that. Not something like this. "Or is there something else you lot haven't told us yet? Sold me comic book collection on eBay? Sold Rex to the zoo?"

Another set of sort of hard-to-place emotions crossed Stephen's face during Connor's little rant. Something like regret; he knew that one well enough. Sympathy. He knew that one, too, and liked it even less. There was something else there, though, something that looked a lot like guilt that he couldn't quite wrap his head around. And honestly, he didn't quite care to just then. He didn't want to think anymore. He just wanted to go to wherever it was they were sending him and Abby and take a hot shower and sleep for the next ten years or so. Was that too much to ask?

Who was he kidding? 'Course it was.

"It's not set in stone," Stephen said. "Jenny's having words with them."

And wasn't that another slap to the face. Well, maybe that was a bit harsh. It was good, having Jenny on with them. He'd missed her. But it was another change. He just needed them to stop for a minute, let him catch his breath.

He slumped back against the wall, not even caring that he sort of pulled Stephen with him. Seemed to him like he was entitled to being a bit of a wanker just this once. Even if, in all fairness, he was probably taking it out on the wrong bloke.

Definitely, that annoyingly honest voice in the back of his head supplied. He was definitely taking it out on the wrong person.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. "It's not just that," he admitted finally, and after that, it all just sort of tumbled out. Poor Stephen was about to get an earful. "We were gone a year, fighting for our lives, dreaming of getting back here. But then we do, and everything's changed." More than he could explain; he meant what he said when he told Cutter he'd tell Stephen, but he wasn't ready for that conversation just yet. "The ARC's new. The people are new. We're being pushed aside like we're outdated, and so far everyone's treated me either like I'm a danger to m'self or to the rest of the world. But the worst is," he took a breath, letting it out through his nose. "The worst is it's like we weren't even missed. Like everything's just moved on without us, and we're nothing more than an inconvenience anymore."

"That's not true." He'd held it in as long as he could, Stephen had. Connor'd seen him open his mouth a good handful of times when he was talking, but he'd always closed it. Letting him finish, he guessed. Nice of him.

Now, though, he was looking at Connor with that steely, 'if you've got any sense at all, you'll listen to what I'm about to tell you' look in his eyes he only got when he felt very strongly about something. Usually arguing with Cutter, as far as Connor could remember. To shoot or not to shoot, to flee or not to flee, that sort of stuff. Connor didn't know that he'd ever been on the receiving end of that look before now. It was a bit intimidating, especially with him crowding him in like that. Had he always been so tall? Suddenly, the wall wasn't quite so supportive as it had felt a minute before. How did the saying go? A rock and a hard place?

He wasn't sure which was which in this particular scenario, but he knew he was stuck somewhere in the middle.

"That's not true," Stephen repeated firmly, "and you know it. We looked for you, Connor. You and Abby both. For months, we tried to find you. Becker nearly lost his command leading missions trying to locate an anomaly to the Cretaceous. Cutter spent weeks at a time in his lab; even Jenny couldn't get him to come out when he thought he was onto something, and we were all half convinced he'd lose his mind every time it didn't turn out. I got arrested, breaking into that bitch Johnson's headquarters. Twice."

"Only twice?" A weak joke at best. Really not even that.

Stephen was probably fair to ignore it. "Things have moved on, Connor. But only because they had to; only because people would've died if they hadn't."

And wow, didn't that make Connor feel selfish all of the sudden. And childish. There he was, pitching a fit, when he knew well enough what it felt like to be left behind. It was important work they did there. It was stupid to think they could stop it all, just on account of two people.

Feeling his face heat up, he dropped his eyes to the floor. Or Stephen's boots. They were sort of in the way. They were nice, though.

He didn't mean to flinch when the finger touched his chin, but reflexes were a bit of a side-effect to his time walking with the dinosaurs. Which was really a lot more a romantic concepts in the films, save maybe Jurassic Park. Minus the bit with the mosquitoes, because that was just a load of—

"Connor, look at me."

Again, not much choice, but Connor didn't have it in him to complain. Stephen tipped his head up, curling his fingers under his chin. The bloke had some serious calluses, Connor couldn't help noticing. Not enough that it was unpleasant or weird. It was just sort of one of those things he noticed when he couldn't seem to reign in his thoughts.

"The point I'm trying to make, if you'd focus long enough for me to make it—"

"Sorry."

Stephen rolled his eyes, but continued like he hadn't heard him, "—is that you were missed. And I know this probably isn't what you had in mind you'd be coming back to."

He had no idea.

"But you're back, and you're alive. The rest is just details."

"That's a lot of details."

"It always is around here." It was said with a bit of disdain. Right. Not big on the details, Stephen. Broken branch, trampled twig, he was on it like white on rice. But he'd never been fond of the day to day. More of a shoot first, never really ask questions about it sort of bloke. Come to think of it, between him and Becker, this time was probably the sort of thing all the mummy dinosaurs told their baby dinosaurs about to make them brush their teeth and do their cleaning. The monsters under the dinosaur's beds. Err. Dens. It wasn't fair, really, having the two of them working together.

To the dinosaurs, he meant. It wasn't fair to the dinosaurs.

Stephen must've gotten the hint that the serious portion of their conversation was just about done with, because he rolled his eyes and smiled his crooked sort of half-smirk, then nodded down the hall. "Come on," he said, steering Connor down the way he'd meant to be going in the first place.

Connor went along with it, if only because he was still a bit addled and Stephen seemed like he knew what he was doing. "Where are we going?"

He thought it seemed like a perfectly reasonable question, but Stephen looked at him like he was slow. Sort of like a beloved pet that just tumped over his water bowl, or something equally ridiculous. "You didn't really think I'd let you rough it in one of the ARC's properties, did you?"

Something told Connor he was using the phrase 'rough it' ironically.

"The thought had crossed my mind," Connor answered a bit cautiously.

Stephen snorted - must've thought he was joking – and slung an arm around his shoulder like it was meant to be there. It occurred to Connor it should've bothered him, but he just couldn't be arsed. Besides, Stephen was like a walking space heater, it felt like. And for someone with an internal thermostat adjusted to the dense heat of the Cretaceous, the climate controlled ARC felt like a bloody cool box.

"Don't worry," Stephen said, and if he pulled Connor in a little closer, then what did it really matter? "Not that much has changed."

Connor only wished he could believe that.


	6. Chapter 6

They made it as far as the car park before it dawned on Connor just what it was they were doing. Leaving. Right. Brilliant. Except for two things:

"What about Abby?" he asked, because that was obviously the most important thing. They'd just made it through a year together, having each others' backs; he wasn't exactly going to walk off and leave her without a second thought, was he?

Stephen didn't miss a beat. "She's staying with Cutter and Jenny for the night. They've got a guest room; I haven't."

"You haven't?"

Which brought Connor to thing two. He still hadn't told him yet. He meant to, and he knew he needed to, but no matter how many times he started the conversation in his head, he couldn't ever really get past the bit about him dying. Seemed to him there ought to be some follow through after that. He just couldn't seem to piece it together, and thinking about it made his stomach twist itself in knots.

He had to tell him soon, though, didn't he? Especially since he was apparently staying the night at his flat. Or maybe he should tell him then, get it over with. And that way, if Stephen didn't want to see him, it wasn't too late to get the keys to the other place. Or maybe he could bunk over with Cutter and Jenny, which was apparently a thing, now, in this world. Good for them. Really.

Connor never thought he'd see the day when his love life was more complicated than Cutter's, though. Honestly, having a love life was a step into uncharted territory for him. Although he wasn't really sure it counted as having one, when he just sort of wandered into it unknowingly. Did it even count as his? He knew there weren't two Connors just running about; it wasn't this Connor and that Connor. There was only one Connor, and he was it, whatever timeline he wound up in.

It just didn't feel that way right then. It was like stepping into another person's life. Didn't feel right. Felt like he was lying, somehow, and he'd never been a good liar.

He'd also never been very good at saying no, though, either. Especially not when it was saying no to riding in the piece of art that turned out to be Stephen's car. An Aston Martin 1973, fire engine red with twin white stripes down the middle. Leather interior.

Vaguely, Connor wondered what ever happened to his Mini Cooper. Maybe stashed in a car park somewhere. Or sold for scrap. No, surely not. There had to be some sort of rules about that sort of thing.

Right. Rules about the property of possibly dead, time-travelling science nerds that got trapped on the wrong side of a wormhole, maybe never to return. Probably in there somewhere around paid time off and worker's comp.

"Connor?" Stephen was looking at him over the roof of the car, brows furrowed.

Connor actually shook his head, like he could shake loose the cobwebs in it. As if it was ever that simple. "Right, sorry," he said.

Stephen eyed him a moment. There was that look again, with the furrowed brows and searching eyes. Made Connor feel like he was looking right through him. Like he was seeing everything, cataloguing it. He felt naked and exposed. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked after a moment.

No, Connor wanted to say.

"Yeah," is what he said, and quickly ducked to get in the car before Stephen could call his bluff. And he would call his bluff, if he got the chance. This was a different timeline, but it was the same basic person, right? Just, well, alive. And Stephen had always had this uncanny knack for reading people.

Sort of made him wonder how he'd ever fallen in with Helen, but then, it wasn't his place to make judgments. Or maybe it was, in this world. Being the boyfriend and all. And bloody hell, wasn't that still a thought to trip over? That Stephen would even be into that, into  _blokes_ , hadn't even crossed Connor's mind. If he'd had to pick a guy on the team to play for both teams, he probably would've gone with someone like Becker. Not that he screamed dodgy or anything, or grumbled it sarcastically which was probably more his speed; he just seemed like maybe he could go either way.

Stephen, though. Stephen was, like, the king of all things manly. He was the lady killer. The mighty hunter. He was everything a nerdy twig like Connor could only wish he could be. He'd never in a million years have pegged him as...whatever he was.

Not that it mattered. He was free to be what he wanted to be. Didn't really change who he was. It was just, things being as they were, it complicated things that didn't really need complicating in the first place.

"You're being quiet."

"Sorry, what?" Connor realized he'd totally spaced again. Wow. This was worse than his usual, even.

Stephen glanced over as he pulled out of the car park and onto the street. He still drove like Connor remembered, at least: crazy. The tires squealed as he pealed out, and he passed at least three people before he spoke. "I said 'you're being quiet.' It's not like you."

Connor huffed. "Thanks, mate," he said dryly.

"That's not what I meant." He sighed. "I know you're out of sorts. Trust me, I know."

Connor wanted to ask him how. How would he know? How would he know what it was like to go to hell and back like that?

The scary thing was, he really didn't know. He didn't know what'd happened to this Stephen in this timeline. Or just regular Stephen in this timeline. Was there a difference? Besides what'd happened, he meant, with the whole 'not dying' bit and everything that entailed moving forward. He scratched his head agitatedly. It was too confusing.

"It's just a lot to process," he said finally, leaning his head back to rest in the cradle of the headrest, the door, and the seatbelt. Even as worked up as he was, he could've easily fallen asleep. Weird how that worked. He was knackered. "I'll get it sorted, eventually."

He wasn't looking forward to it, though. Getting it sorted meant coming clean to Stephen. It meant having to tell him that the Connor he'd known, wasn't the same one that came back.

That was going to be fun.

He shuddered, hugging his arms around himself.

"Cold?" Stephen asked.

Bloody hell, did the man see everything?

Connor was about to say no, just on reflex, but changed his mind. He was, actually. Had been, pretty much since he made it back through the anomaly. Minus the bit where he was staring down a Spinosaurus; that'd gotten his blood pumping pretty well. But now... "Just a bit."

"You should've said something."

It wasn't a real scolding, but Connor still felt the need to apologize. "Sorry."

Stephen took his eyes from the road to look at him a second, and it was like he wanted to say something, but ended up just shaking his head instead and reaching back into the back seat and pulling his jacket up. It was the thick one, the brown leather bomber that looked like it'd actually seen World War II for all the scuffs and faded patches. But it was familiar, and Connor was too grateful for that and too bloody tired of being chilly to care that he was curling up under another man's jacket. It was warm and smelled like trees and some sort of aquatic aftershave type scent. He didn't think too hard about it. Didn't really care. All he cared about was that he'd had a frankly crapper day, and for however long it took to get back to Stephen's flat, he was going to enjoy a little peace and quiet.

"Thanks, mate," he muttered, pulling the jacket tighter around himself and wedging himself down firmly against the door.

Out of the corner of his eyes, as they started to close, he caught Stephen smile. There was that look again. Fond. Affectionate. There was a time Connor would've given anything to have someone look at him like that, instead of turning their noses up at him or laughing or scowling at him like he'd done something wrong, which, in all fairness, he probably had. He dreamed about it.

He'd just never, in his wildest dreams – and for Connor, that was saying something – thought that it would be Stephen-Sodding-Hart.

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all feedback, good or bad, is appreciated. (Preferably constructive, though I suppose it's all a learning experience).


End file.
